by Ivy Black
“Compound is clear,” Prophet announces of the comm.
“We’re pinned down up here. Care to lend a hand?” comes Cosmo’s reply.
“On our way.”
I watch as Prophet’s team pours out of the gate and moves through the thick clouds of smoke pouring from the burning husks of the SUVs and open fire. The men turn to return fire, but it’s too late. They’re cut to ribbons in a matter of moments. And as the last echoes of the gunfire fade away, I look over at Nitro, still caught in the grips of disbelief that we actually won.
“Dude,” I say.
He nods. “Dude.”
We get to our feet and head down the rise toward the charred remnants of the SUVs and the pile of bodies around them. I lose sight of them when the wind shifts and wraps us in a thick column of black smoke. But when we emerge from it, I see our guys surrounding the last SUV in the line, weapons raised and trained on the rear doors. Prophet opens the door and points his weapon inside.
“Get the hell out here right now,” Prophet roars.
He reaches into the SUV and comes out with a fist full of Zavala’s hair. He drags the cartel boss out and unceremoniously throws him to the ground. Nitro and I stand next to Monk and Domino, watching the scene play out before us. Zavala struggles up to his knees and looks at Prophet with a cold, cruel detachment on his face. I swallow hard, not entirely sure what’s about to happen.
“What are you waiting for, puto?” Zavala shouts at Prophet. “You going to stand there and gloat? Or are you going to be a man, huh?”
“That eager to die?” Prophet sneers.
He shrugs. “It’s the business. It’s the life. I ain’t afraid to die,” he says. “But you should know that your time’s gonna come too, ese. And when it does, you should think about how you want to go out.”
“I have. Many times, already. Stared down death more times than I can count,” Prophet says.
Zavala flashes him a grin. “You and me? We’re not so different,” he says, then turns his head, addressing all of us. “You all stand there high and mighty, but you’re no different than I am.”
“We don’t kill innocents,” I say, my anger flaring.
“Maybe not. But you kill when you have to. You do what you have to do to protect what’s yours. To expand your business, yeah?” he says. “So do I. You provide for yours; I provide for mine. Two sides of the same coin, amigos.”
“Pretty fucking far from it,” Prophet growls.
My mind immediately goes to Pete and to the others we’ve run out of town and I can’t say he’s entirely wrong. I absolutely would have killed Pete for what he did to Bellamy given the chance. We do what we have to do to protect what’s ours. To protect those whom we love. And yeah, to expand our business territory when we need to. I like to think we’re the good guys, but the truth is, we’ve got as much blood on our hands as Zavala does.
The one distinction I can make, though, and the one thing I will hold onto, is that we are doing the things we do to provide a safe place. To protect a town from the ravagers and scum like Zavala. People who seek to poison others. Get them hooked on their shit and drag everybody down into the gutter. We all love Blue Rock. We’ve all shed blood to defend it. And yeah, on occasion, we’ve had to kill to protect it.
Our cause is righteous. Or maybe that’s just what I tell myself so I can sleep at night.
“Do it, ese,” Prophet says. “Pull the fuckin’ trigger. Just know it’ll be you down on your knees one day.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Those men you killed that day in the lodge? The men you killed here? My men? What? You don’t think they’ve got friends and family that are gonna come lookin’ for you even after I’m dead?” Zavala says with an evil chuckle. “You think you can kill without consequence? You believe that, you’re stupider than I thought you were.”
“Your men took somebody. One of ours. Your men too, my girl. You assholes started this war. Not us,” Monk says, his voice tight with anger.
Zavala shrugged. “Doesn’t matter who started it. The point is the war’s started. And taking me out ain’t gonna change that.”
“I’m tired of listenin’ to this punk,” Doc says. “Do it.”
Zavala smirks. “When the blood is flowin’ in your town and people are dyin’ left and right, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Prophet looks down at him for a long moment, then steps forward and without warning, presses the barrel of his sidearm against Zavala’s head and pulls the trigger. The shot echoes around the barren landscape and Zavala’s limp body falls over, hitting the ground with a meaty thud. I watch the blood and viscera spilling out of the massive exit wound in the back of his head, letting the realization that it’s really over sink into my mind. Savor it. I look around and see everybody else seems to be doing the same thing. It’s really over.
But a cold chill runs through me as I play his last words in my mind over and over again as I ask myself—is it really over? Or will this just be a case of a butterfly effect… our actions here, and everything leading up to tonight’s fight, touching off a chain reaction of events that lead to even more blood-soaked misery?
I give my head a shake, trying to push those morose thoughts from my mind. I can’t predict what’s going to happen in the future. All I can do is live in the now. And right now, we’ve beaten Zavala and torn down his empire. Yeah, somebody else will rise up to fill the void, but it’s entirely possible they’ll look to the north and decide taking us head up just isn’t worth it.
I’ve got a life to live and I don’t want to spend it looking over my shoulder or fearing every bump in the night. I want to live it. Enjoy it. Cherish it. After all, I’ve got somebody pretty great to live for now.
“Okay, let’s burn down the warehouse,” Prophet says as he finally tears his eyes away from the body of Miguel Zavala. “Let’s wipe out any trace—”
“I have an idea about that, prez,” I say. “I think we can do something better with it than just burning it down.”
“What do you have in mind?”
A grin crosses my face as I tell him what I’m thinking. It’s a plan that might just earn us a little more slack and goodwill around town. And frankly, we can never have too many markers we can call in when needed.
Epilogue
Bellamy
It’s been two weeks since I was discharged from the hospital and though I’m still pretty banged up, I’m moving around a lot better than I was. I’m feeling a lot better. I think part of the healing process is being helped by the fact that Derek came back to me alive and in one piece. Well… mostly in one piece, anyway.
When I saw the wound on his shoulder, of course, I freaked out. I mean, he’d been shot. But the guy in his club, Doc, had taken good care of him. He’d gotten the bullet out of his shoulder and patched him up. His arm is in a sling now like my body, but according to Doc, Derek’s healing nicely as well.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Derek asks.
I give him a smile. “Just reflecting on how things have turned out. How… good… things are.”
He matches my smile. “Yeah. They are pretty good, aren’t they?”
“I’d say so.”
Derek was there when I was discharged to take me home. And he’s pretty much moved into my mom’s place and has been waiting on us hand and foot ever since. He’s cooked, cleaned, and catered to my every wish and desire. I can’t even begin to tell him how much I appreciate it. But when my body is one-hundred percent again, I plan on showing him.
I turn my face up to the sun, letting its rays warm my skin, relishing the beautiful, unseasonably warm afternoon. We’re at the Pharaohs’ compound, having a big barbecue to celebrate the fact that Zavala and his cartel are dead. Gone. And they’ll never bother us again. Maybe we’re celebrating the fact that Blue Rock Bay, and everybody living within town borders, is once again safe and secure.
I’ve met most of everybody in the MC and far from being the gruff and
stereotypical biker thugs some people insist they are, most of them are pretty well-spoken overall. And they’ve all been nothing but kind to me. They may be a little rough around the edges, but they’ve all been gentlemen. They’ve got great senses of humor, and they’ve all really made me feel welcomed. They make me feel like I’m a part of the club now.
I lean my head down on Derek’s shoulder, looking out over the compound yard, listening to the music playing loudly, I smile. Some of the guys brought their families and I’m enjoying watching the kids run around, laughing and giggling with each other. Derek looks over at me and grins as if he’s reading my mind.
“You can hit the snooze button on that biological clock,” he says with a laugh.
“Trust me, it’s on pause,” I reply. “For now, anyway.”
He leans over and gives me a small kiss and a smile. The love between the two of us has flourished beyond my wildest dreams. He makes me feel valued. Treasured. He makes me feel like a queen. I can only hope I’ve made him feel half as cherished as he makes me feel.
“Life is a funny, strange thing,” I say.
“That it is.”
I turn to look at him, my eyes drifting to his shoulder. His arm is in a sling and he’s got a shirt on, but I can still see the wound and it makes me shudder.
“So, will our life be normal now? No more cartel wars?” I ask.
“I certainly hope not. My hope is for life to be normal. Maybe even boring.”
I give him a smile. “Maybe not boring. I’d like a little bit of excitement in my life every now and then.”
“Be careful what you ask for,” he says with a chuckle.
“That’s a good point. How about, I’d like to have some fun in my life every now and then?”
“That’s better.”
We share a laugh and a soft kiss. “We should probably be getting back to my mom’s house soon, you know. The day nurse is probably going to need to get going soon.”
He nods. “Yeah, I figured as much. But it’s been a nice day. I’m glad you came along today. Thank you.”
“It really has been a good day. And thank you for inviting me.”
“Oh good, there you are, Spyder. I wanted to talk to you.”
We both turn and see Sheriff Singer step over to us. He’d been sequestered away in the clubhouse with Prophet and some of the club’s leaders for a little while. But they all filed out about five minutes ago, started putting together plates for themselves, and joined the party.
“What’s up, Sheriff?”
“I just wanted to thank you,” Singer said.
Derek cocks his head. “Thank me? For what?”
“Prophet tells me it was your idea to turn my police department into a cartel slayer,” he says.
Derek smiles softly. “Just seemed like a good idea at the time.”
After they’d won their fight, Derek had suggested that instead of destroying the warehouse and all of the product in it like Prophet had suggested they do, that they turn it into a win for Singer and his deputies. So the Pharaohs made them the heroes of the story… and took themselves out of it.
For the last couple of weeks, the news has been all about the brave warriors of the police department and their heroics in taking down one of the most notoriously violent drug cartels in the world. More than that, that Sheriff Singer had killed Miguel Zavala himself. The news—not just local—but national news outlets have been eating it up. It’s turned Singer into a national hero. There’s even talk about the sheriff getting a medal from the Governor.
Yeah, everything’s pretty much come up roses. The cartel’s been vanquished, the town is safe, the sheriff is a hero, and the club can go back to doing what they normally do… which is still something I’m learning to grow accustomed to. With the cartel out of business, though, the worst of the danger has passed, and we can hope that there won’t be a repeat performance anytime soon.
What I hope is that now that we’re free from the threat of imminent violence and death, we can focus on the happier side of life. On the happier side of love. My hope is we can focus on each other, Derek and I. And focus on building our relationship, growing it, and making it into something beautiful.
“Well, I just wanted to say thank you,” Singer says. “Can’t say I necessarily like the spotlight or all the accolades, but it has its perks. We may be gettin’ some new fundin’ from the state for equipment upgrades and the like.”
“That’s good news, Sheriff,” Derek says. “I’m glad it’s workin’ out for you.”
Singer claps him on the shoulder and gives him a nod then turns to me with a smile on his face. “Don’t let this boy get away with anything. You keep him on his toes, Bellamy.”
“Always do, Sheriff.”
“Good girl,” he says with a laugh. “I’ll see you kids later.”
Singer walks away and grabs a beer, chatting up some of the other guys. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Singer this relaxed and loose before. And when I turn to Derek, looking into those intense and passionate hazel eyes of his, I realize my life is full of firsts lately.
“You’re a good man, Derek Moore,” I tell him. “You’re a good man with a good heart. And I appreciate you.”
“And you, Bellamy Young, are the woman of my dreams.”
“How did I get so lucky?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I’m not sure. It’s a question I’ve asked myself a few times, though.”
I squeal with laughter and slap his knee. “You’re an ass.”
Derek leans over and gives me a tender kiss and that smile of his that makes my heart quiver and melt.
“I think maybe we found each other at just the right time. When we both needed something good in our lives,” he says. “When we were both finally ready to be in each other’s lives.”
I let him raise my hand to his lips and he places a gentle kiss on the back of my knuckles. I stare deeply into his eyes and feel the emotions running through my veins, thicker than molasses.
“I think you’re right. And I’m glad we were finally ready,” I tell him.
“That makes two of us,” he says. “I love you, Bellamy.”
“And I love you, too.”
He slides down off the bench and takes me by the hand. I let him help me down and we say our goodbyes to everybody then head out to my car.
“Let’s go home,” he says.
Home. That sounds about right. Derek feels like home to me. And it’s the most amazing feeling I’ve ever had in my life. It’s a feeling I want to last forever. It’s a feeling I’m confident will last forever.
* * *
Enjoy the following preview of
Nitro (Dark Pharaohs MC Series Book 4)
Nitro Preview
Chapter One
Nitro
It’s pickup day, which is a day that’s always filled with the potential for violence. Standing off to the side, my hand unobtrusively hovering near the butt of my weapon, I keep an eye on the proceedings. Cosmo and Monk are dealing with the man who runs our pipeline, a dude named Cort who’s got half a dozen guys of his own keeping watch on me, just as I’m watching them. It’s a very mutually assured destruction vibe we’ve got going on around here.
What they don’t know is that before they got here, I planted a few of my toys around the parking lot, making sure that if shit goes sideways, we’ll have the upper hand. It’s standard practice for me at any meeting site. With my background in explosives—I ran a demo team in Prophet’s unit over in Afghanistan—I know how to make IEDs and make them very well. I’ll blow them all to holy hell long before they even realize how fucked they are.
The sun is beating down on us hard. It’s an unusually warm day and I can feel the beads of sweat rolling down my back, making my T-shirt stick to my skin. We’re in the parking lot of a long-abandoned department store that’s well off the beaten track. Given that it fell behind the march of progress long ago, the cops don’t come by anymore, making it a perfect place to conduct our
business.
Spyder, along with our new prospect, Blake, and an old-timer named Grease, are loading up the vans. From where I’m standing, I can hear Grease bitching about having to break his back lugging the heavy boxes around. That bitching and whining has been a constant thing with Grease for as long as I can remember. It’s one reason nobody likes him very much and most wish he’d just detach himself from the MC. Me included. But he’s an old-timer, so that earns him a modicum of grace.
Turning back, I see Cosmo hand Cort the duffel of cash and feel myself instinctively tense. This is the part where things have the highest potential to go sideways and end up with all of us throwin’ shots at one another. I have no reason to think this will be anything but routine. We’ve been doing business with Cort for years and have never had a problem. But I’m not necessarily the most trusting guy in the world. Especially when we’re dealing with sketchy people.
Personally, I don’t like dealing with punks like Cort and his boys. I trust them even less than I trust most people. Cort’s just a squirrely dude. Shifty. But they supply us with the guns and weed we need to do business, so they’re a necessary evil we, unfortunately, have to deal with. It’s not like there’s a bumper crop of guys running around who can get us both weed and guns. He’s a one-stop shop for us which is where his value to the MC sits and why we continue to deal with him.
Besides, I’m just a soldier here. Who we do business with ain’t my call to make. And honestly, I prefer it that way. I’m better as a soldier. I’m better at knowing what my orders are and then executing them rather than being the one doling out those orders. Being the decision-maker comes with profound responsibilities and my history has shown me that I’m not great at dealing with the fallout of my decisions.